When it comes to will and conviction, Vlad III is not lacking. Facing the overwhelming military might of the Ottoman Empire, he never considered giving up. This is the essence of a Heroic Spirit: to laugh in the face of overwhelming odds and despair, that's what qualifies one to be called a hero. Moreover, he currently holds the upper hand.
If no unforeseen events occur, the two heroes will continue their fierce battle. Given their strength and tenacity, they can fight until dawn.
However, the unexpected did happen.
As the torrent of stakes and the flames of the sun clashed violently, creating a majestic scene reminiscent of dawn when light and darkness alternate, an even more massive and terrifying magical energy approached rapidly, accompanied by a thunderous, maniacal laugh.
Compared to the enormous figure which barely contained otherworldly magical energy visible even from hundreds of meters away, Jeanne d'Arc's petite figure and Servant aura running ahead seemed insignificant.
"He's back again?"
Hearing the highly recognizable laughter, both spear-wielding heroes simultaneously had the same thought, and their movements involuntarily slowed.
The difference was, after a momentary distraction, Vlad III showed a look of joy and intensified his ferocious attacks.
Karna, however, had a grim expression. For the first time since the battle began, he abandoned his tactic of closing the distance and retreated, shifting from offense to defense.
Both knew that Spartacus was no longer a Servant of the Red faction. Although he still bore the title of Red Berserker, he now belonged to the Black faction. Despite his apparent instability and lack of coordination with Vlad III, as long as he didn't attack Vlad III and focused on causing destruction, he would create significant trouble for Karna. Not to mention Spartacus's current abnormal form with five eyes and eight arms, containing magical energy far exceeding the limits of a Servant.
With this heavyweight factor added to the mix, no matter how firm Karna's will was, he couldn't compensate for the huge difference in power.
As Karna hesitated about whether to retreat or move the battlefield, another unexpected event occurred.
Spartacus, now close enough, attacked with all eight arms. Two of the thick, relatively short arms struck at Jeanne, while the other six arms pierced through the flames of the sun and the stakes, attacking both Karna and Vlad III.
It seemed he intended to fight three top-tier Servants alone.
"What are you doing, Spartacus! Your enemy is over there!"
Vlad III, his assault interrupted, was both shocked and furious.
However, Spartacus, now completely lost to his madness, didn't heed Vlad III's words. Laughing maniacally, he continued his whip-like arm attacks.
"Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha, death to all oppressors! Accept your judgment, oppressors!"
Without the stake barrier, Vlad III raised his spear and gritted his teeth, blocking the powerful sweep.
Two forces of equally exceptional power clashed, causing visible ripples in the atmosphere.
"Has he gone completely mad? Not even the Command Spells can..."
"Indeed, Spartacus in this state can no longer be restrained by Command Spells," Jeanne said, now able to catch her breath thanks to Vlad III and Karna sharing the pressure.
"Ruler, is it?"
Vlad III glanced at Jeanne, exerting his strength to deflect the whip-arm. "Did you lead the Red Berserker here?"
"Yes," Jeanne admitted calmly.
"The Red Archer lured the Red Berserker away to attack me. I simply brought him back—that was my judgment as a Ruler!"
Vlad III had nothing to say to this and could only snort coldly.
Enjoying the least pressure due to his position, Karna leisurely remarked:
"The rebellious gladiator has completely broken free of his chains and intends to judge all oppressors. What do you plan to do, Grand Duke?"
"To the Rebel, I Sentence You to Death! Kazikli Bey!"
Vlad III could not tolerate rebellion any more than he could tolerate invaders. He intended to skewer the rebel with stakes just as he had done when they first met. This time, however, he would not avoid vital points; he aimed to pierce the rebel's heart, throat, head, and spirit core!
Yet, reality once again exceeded Vlad III's expectations.
The stakes did indeed pierce Spartacus's body—dozens of them, hitting vital points. But Spartacus did not die, nor did his attacks pause for even a moment.
Unlike Karna, who could reduce all external negative interference to a tenth with his Golden Armor, Spartacus endured the stakes' impalement purely through his physical body. He did not lose his life because his body had already completed its repair and regeneration before the damage could be fatal.
Since the battle began, Spartacus has suffered countless injuries. Due to the effect of his Noble Phantasm, Crying Warmonger, all damage is converted into magical energy and restorative power, turning Spartacus into an unkillable monster.
"Oh oh, oh oh... oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh!"
In a voice that was a mix of ecstasy and agony, the rebellious gladiator used brute force to break the stakes piercing his body from the ground. With fragments still tangled with his newly regenerated flesh, he charged at Vlad III, the oppressor standing at the pinnacle of power.
Vlad III summoned more stakes, but it was futile. Spartacus's body was only so large, and the stakes were of fixed size. No matter how many were summoned, only so many could pierce his body, insufficient to overwhelm his aberrant regenerative power. Eventually, the stakes could no longer penetrate Spartacus's body, as his insides were filled with stake fragments, forming an incredibly tough internal armor along with his muscles and bones.
The immense number of stakes brought no mental pressure to Spartacus either; he was a rebel who rose against oppression. Like a spring, the greater the oppression, the stronger the rebound.
Advance, get skewered, repair, continue advancing, get skewered again, repair again. Spartacus repeated this process, destroying more stakes in a short time than Karna had over his prolonged battle.
Just a little more, and his hand would reach the tyrant's head.
Just a little more, and he would achieve the greatest glory and joy.
Spartacus advanced, laughing, continuing to advance.
Watching this berserker, Vlad III involuntarily took a step back!